


Making You Mine

by LaKoda0518



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bearded John Watson, Because he’s Sherlock’s ass and I don’t have a story without him, Bottom Sherlock Holmes, But this time he's dying to get in Sherlock's pants lol, Flirting, Had to add new tags because John just can’t behave, Heartache, Is my story I do what I want, It doesn’t mean they’re weak, Jealous John Watson, John "Three Continents" Watson, John Has PTSD, John Has a Beard, John Watson Being an Idiot, John Watson In Love, John Watson is a Tease, John feels guilty, John has a small pain kink, John has an episode and Sherlock helps, John is not a sub/Sherlock isn’t his dom, John makes it up to me for fluffling up my last fic, John overdoes it, John went rogue AGAIN, Just because someone has a moment of weakness, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Seriously why do I even put up with his ass, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock Holmes Loves John Watson, Sherlock is a smitten kitten, Sherloxk helps him through it, Stupid hedgehog, Teacher AU, Teacher John Watson, Teacher Sherlock Holmes, Three Continents Watson lays on the charm, Top John, Wow that's alot of tags, he likes to be scractched and marked
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2019-11-06 02:35:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17931194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaKoda0518/pseuds/LaKoda0518
Summary: Dr. John Watson is a retired army vet with a PhD in History who has been invalided home from the war. A chance meeting with an old friend lands him a teaching/coaching job at a local secondary school where he meets brilliant seventh year science teacher, Sherlock Holmes. Months of shameless flirting and touching push John to make his move, but he begins to wonder if he may have been too late... A new colleague joins their staff and instantly sets his sights on Sherlock. Can John sweep Sherlock off his feet or will he be left to lick his wounds alone?





	1. Mine

_ Ten minutes. _

 

Ten minutes until the final bell rang, signaling the end of another school day and the start of another afternoon of football practice. Ten minutes before John headed up to the pitch to start his team running passing drills in preparation for their next match. Ten minutes until he could slip out of his office, seek out his favorite co-worker, and catch the attention of those beautiful ice-blue eyes. 

 

And, God, if they weren’t the most gorgeous eyes he’d ever seen in his entire existence. Brilliant blue eyes that were framed by thick, velvet curls such a dark shade of brown they were almost black. In ten minutes, he could let his eyes wander over gorgeously pale skin and perfect Cupid’s bow lips that were accented by cheekbones so sharp that John was convinced they could cut glass. 

 

_ Yes… just ten more minutes. _

 

With an anticipatory sigh, John leaned back in his overly-padded desk chair and propped his feet up, crossing one of the other at the ankles, on the small filing cabinet next to his desk. He ran a hand through his greying-blonde hair and scratched his bearded jaw as his gaze fell on the small tower of Great Depression essays stacked haphazardly in the tray on the corner of his desk, awaiting the fury of his murderous red pen. His final hour of the day was usually reserved for lesson planning, grading papers, or allowing students to come in and make up any classwork or exams they had missed while they were absent. Today, however, John hadn’t even lifted the first essay off of the top of the pile. Instead, he had allowed himself to be lost in his own mind, completely in awe of the remarkable anomaly that was Sherlock Holmes, seventh year Science teacher and most intriguing human being John had ever laid eyes on. 

 

He had met Sherlock a little over a year ago when he had come to accept a position as the new eighth year history teacher and football coach. He taught six history classes during his work day, covering a wide variety of topics that came from his textbook of choice. In the afternoons, he was responsible for loading all of the football equipment into his truck and getting twenty young lads into shape with whatever drills and team building skills he deemed fit in order to lead them to success.

 

It hadn’t at all been what he had imagined he would be doing with his life. Not when he’d signed up for the army straight out of university. Something about a life of adventure and danger had appealed to him way more than he would have ever cared to admit and it had almost cost him his life. Three years ago, John’s boots hit the dusty ground in Afghanistan and his adrenaline rush was at its peak. The climate was unbearable and the job was hard, but every single moment had just felt right. He had found his calling; the life he felt that he had been born to lead…. that is, until life decided that it had other plans. 

 

About two months before the end of his tour, he had taken a bullet straight through his left shoulder, shattering the bone and nicking a vital artery. It was then that John’s entire world crashed down around him - life, as he knew it, was over - and, had it not been for Bill Murray, he would have been pushing up daisies somewhere south of London. 

 

Captain John Watson was sent back to London, armed with a walking cane and an army pension worth about as much as the mud still caked on his boots. He had attended two types of therapy session twice a week - one for his shoulder; one for his mind - and then went straight back to the miserable little bedsit that he had taken up residence in. His only companion was the military issue handgun he had kept hidden in his desk drawer where it lay calling to him on his hardest days.

 

However, after six months of licking his wounds and feeling sorry for himself, the universe had apparently decided it was time for him to get on with his life and threw him straight into the path of Mike Stamford, an old friend from his Unidays. His usually quiet walk home from therapy had led to coffee with Mike which, in turn, led to John sitting in an impromptu interview with the principal of the local secondary school on the following afternoon.

 

As they sat in the park to drink their coffee, Mike had informed him that he was the assistant rugby coach for the school and had tipped him off that they were in search of a new teacher that could command a history classroom, as well as head up their new football program. The idea had sent John’s mind into an almost-automatic refusal at first, but, before he could fully formulate his excuses, his friend had already set up an interview with the headmaster on his behalf as he insisted that John finally put his PhD to use. 

 

Now, here he sat, almost two and a half years later, with his feet propped up while his thoughts ran away from him. He had only moments, now, before the final bell rang and he was itching to be in the company of one Mr. Sherlock Holmes. John stretched his arms up above his head and dropped his feet to the floor as he gathered his things and grabbed his keys. He shut down his computer and stuffed the stack of essays neatly into his satchel just as the bell rang.  _ Finally. _

 

He switched off the lights and made his way up the hallway as students flooded out into the halls around him. Being shoved this way and that, he pushed through the crowded corridor until he was able to spot a familiar head of dark, curly hair coming out of a classroom up ahead. As the man turned toward him, John could see that he was staring intently down at his mobile.

 

“Holmes!” the coach called out to catch his friend’s attention as he drew nearer, clapping a hand down over the taller man’s shoulder; the gesture causing Sherlock to jump slightly as he flicked his translucent gaze up from the device in his hand to meet John’s navy blue.

 

“Ah, Dr. Watson. Shouldn’t you be on your way up to the fields for whatever rough-housing it is that you get up to in the afternoons?” the Science teacher asked, arching one perfect eyebrow with a hint of that flirtatious smirk that John loved so much already playing on his lips.  _ The game was already on, then… _

 

As odd as it was to admit, conversation between the two men usually managed to work its way into a teasingly, flirty encounter every time they spoke to one another. With every not-so-subtle remark and every little intimate touch that passed between them, John craved every single ounce of it that he could get. His entire life, the war veteran had insisted that he wasn’t gay, but, the more these little instances came and went, he was certain that he was in fact bisexual. He couldn’t deny that he was attracted to his colleague and his many eccentric behaviors; another fact that was proven time and time again every time he laid eyes on the remarkably gorgeous genius before him.

 

John tried and failed to suppress a smile of his own as he gave Sherlock’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before he slid his hand down to grip the other man’s bicep and narrowed his eyes, playfully, “Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. You haven’t seen me in action yet, you know. Think there’s any chance I can finally convince you to sit in on a practice?”. His words were serious though his tone was light and flirty as he raised his eyebrows with the question. He usually did everything he could to try and sway the handsome man to venture out into his life for a change instead of keeping himself hidden away in his classroom.

 

Sherlock let out of snort of contempt as he feigned disinterest in the idea. “Oh, for God’s sake, John, why on earth would I do a thing like that?” he asked, schooling his features into another playfully condescending smirk before the cheeky grin he was holding in could break through that cool facade. 

 

The hallway had all but emptied by now as all of the students had filtered out onto the grounds in their rush to get home, but John was enjoying their banter far more than he should have been as he leaned in close enough to press his lips to his colleague’s ear. “Maybe because you’d like it… I think you’d like to see what it is I actually do out there on that field. Or… “ John’s words hung in his throat for half a second before he pushed past his nerves to say them anyway. “Maybe, you’d like to see what I could do to you once I’m finished with this silly football practice…” he whispered, relishing the sound of Sherlock’s breath hitching in his throat. They had danced around this for far too long and John’s spur of the moment decision to push their banter into uncharted territory seemed to be more than welcome as he felt soft curls press against his cheek. 

  
Feeling a rush of courage deep in his chest, he brushed his lips against the taller man’s ear, just the ghost of a kiss, and pulled back just far enough to gauge his friend’s reaction. Sherlock’s eyes were closed and his lips were parted ever so slightly in a way that gave John’s heart a triumphant ego boost as he raised a hand to brush the backs of his fingers across a sharp cheekbone. A warm chuckle rose from his chest as he watched the taller man lean into the touch before pulling himself back to his senses.

 

Sherlock’s eyes snapped open and he sucked in a breath of air, turning his attention to John almost instantly. “John…?” he whispered; the breathy sound barely audible even in the silence. His crystal clear gaze searched John’s face for any signs of misunderstanding as he furrowed his brow.

 

John let his ego have its moment of victory as he allowed the look Sherlock was giving him to stroke it into a roaring flame. The feeling swelled in his chest and a confident grin crossed his features as he brought a hand up to brush an errant curl away from the taller man’s temple. Tucking it behind his ear, John smirked, “Why don’t you come up to field when you’re done and we can talk about it over dinner this evening? Something tells me I’m going to need all the energy I can get if I’m going to entertain you, tonight,”. As Sherlock’s eyes widened slightly, John let the innuendo hang in the air between them for a brief moment before he trailed his hand down Sherlock’s jawline and brushed the pad of his thumb over his bottom lip. “Unless… I’ve been reading these last few months all wrong and -”

 

Sherlock shook his head silently at first, blinking as he tried to clear his throat, “No, n-no. Not at all. I just… Field, then dinner. Yes, that’s… fine. It’s all fine…”.  His words came out as a jumbled mess of nerves and it sent a jolt of desire straight to the front of John’s trousers and, Christ, was it heavenly.

 

Watching a grown man stumble over his own words like an insecure child shouldn’t have given John the satisfaction that it did, but he was too far gone to care at this point. He had the overly-posh, perfectly-articulate Sherlock Holmes stuttering under his touch and it was working wonders on his already active libido. He loved watching those usually arrogant features melt beneath his stare and couldn’t help but to draw it out a little longer than he should have. 

 

Placing a gentle finger just under Sherlock’s chin, John tilted the taller man’s face to the left ever so slightly and then to the right, looking him over intently. He could sense Sherlock’s anxiety building as he took in the sight before him: perfectly pressed black suit jacket and slim, matching trousers, accented beautifully by the deep purple shirt that John had always loved. Yes, the purple shirt was definitely his favorite with the way it fit his friend’s lean, angular form like a glove; the top two buttons undone at the neck, exposing the delicate hollow between his collarbones as the next few buttons strained across the width of his chest, enticing John every single time he wore it. 

 

_ Get a grip, Watson... _

 

John retracted his hand from Sherlock’s face and fixed him with the most seductive smirk he could muster as he let his reply drip with the promise of what was to come. “Tonight, then,” he confirmed with a wink as he took the taller man’s hand in his, turning it over to place a delicate kiss to the palm of his hand before curling Sherlock’s fingers closed over the exact spot that his lips had been. “Hang on to that for me, yeah? I’m going to be needing it back from you, later tonight,”. The wolfish grin on his face reflecting the ‘Three-Continents Watson’ charm John used when he needed it most. 

 

He heard his friend swallow audibly and nod just once in response to the teasing gesture before turning on his heel to dart back into his classroom.  Watching him leave gave John a split second to admire the taller man’s perfect arse before he took out his keys and proceeded to make his way out to his truck; a small smile still evident on his face.

 

\---------- 

 

“Get your arse in gear, Davis, before I come after you myself!” John shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth so that his voice carried to the farthest side of the field. He was sure the threat would fall on deaf ears, but he had a reputation with his team to uphold and watching the boys run sprints had sparked his own need to blow off some steam. He paced back and forth on the side lines and watched with his arms crossed over his chest as the tenth year midfielder he’d shouted at picked up his pace and caught up to his peers. 

 

After the intense encounter with Sherlock, the army vet’s mind had been racing with various visual scenarios that could play out once he crossed into the ‘outside world’ with his friend after practice. It was one thing seeing a colleague during the working hours, but it was something else entirely to imagine spending time with such a remarkable genius outside of his element. He knew Sherlock never attended staff parties or luncheons unless it was mandatory for him to be present, and he also knew that no one else had ever seen the typically anti-social madman go anywhere other than school or his own flat. He couldn’t help but wonder what Sherlock did in his spare time that kept him from socialising with his co-workers, but another small part of him didn’t think he would understand even if he did know. Something about the way Sherlock carried himself and behaved around the rest of the staff gave John the impression that his personal life was much more private than he had ever let on. In regards to the man’s private life, he’d even allowed himself to wonder if his handsome friend had ever been in a proper relationship, romantic, casual, or otherwise.

 

Just as his thoughts began to drift into dangerous territory, John called a quick five minute water break for his team while he walked to his truck to grab the cones out of the back. The sun was setting in the late afternoon sky and, with a half hour still left in their training session, he retrieved his black and gold school cap from the front seat. He grabbed the bag of cones out of the bed of the truck and positioned the cap on his head so that the bill shielded his eyes from the setting sun. As he turned back to the field, he could see the outline of a curly head coming up over the hill from the schoolyard and he felt a surge of excitement zip through his body. 

 

The joy was short lived, however, as another figure emerged right along beside the curly haired man; a figure John had never seen before. The newcomer was just an inch or two shorter than Sherlock and had thick black hair that settled into a perfect swoop over his forehead. He wore expensive sunglasses to complement a tight-fitting school polo - no doubt ordered to this exact specification to show off his muscular arms - and khaki carpenter trousers. He was clean shaven with unbelievably white teeth just visible through the crooked grin he had aimed in Sherlock’s direction. His school ID lanyard swung lazily from his trouser pocket where his classroom keys must have been tucked and John felt a pang of jealousy rip through his chest with the roar of a raging tiger. Who the hell did this bloke think he was, smiling at the brilliant Sherlock Holmes like  _ that _ ?? 

 

The now-prominent predator in John’s chest let out a fierce snarl and unsheathed its claws as he watched Sherlock let out a soft chuckle at something his new companion had just said to him, all the while flicking those gorgeously pale eyes down to glance at his own feet. The newcomer stopped just as they approached the opposite sideline to pull out his wallet from which he withdrew what looked like a business card. Reaching forward, he pressed the card into Sherlock’s hand and let his fingertips linger over the pale skin of his wrist before pulling back to wave goodbye as he headed toward the teacher’s parking lot. The grin that was left on Sherlock’s face was enough to set John’s angry tiger pacing in its cage, dying to unleash its fury.

 

“Hey, Coach! Everything alright?” one of the boys called from behind, snapping John out of his murderous thoughts. 

 

“Yeah! Sorry! Let’s set up to run drill set number 3 and see if we can improve our footwork, okay?” he suggested as he shook his head to bring his mind back to the practice field and jogged back to set up the cones for dribbling drills. Deep down, he knew that he couldn’t let himself get too caught up in the exchange he had seen a moment ago without first having all of the details, but it wasn’t easy to curb his jealous side.

 

As the team began to work through various drills, John spared a glance in Sherlock’s direction to find him leaning with his back against the field house, checking something on his mobile. A hollow feeling began to creep its way into his stomach, but John tried to shake it off. Just because Sherlock was on his mobile didn’t mean that he was messaging his new acquaintance; he had come up to the field like John had asked, hadn’t he? So, obviously he was just as interested as John was in taking things a bit further than just being workmates. No use getting too worked up over something that he couldn’t even be sure was happening and, besides, it wasn’t like Sherlock belonged to him or anything. He was attempting to stake his claim, sure, but nothing was set in stone… not yet, anyway. 

 

Although his mind wasn’t as convinced by his reasoning, the great cat in his chest had quieted itself for now even if it did seem to be curled around his heart in an attempt to protect it from harm.  _ Good… at least if I can keep that under control, I might stand a chance. _

 

Checking his watch, John pulled a whistle from his trouser pocket and blew a loud blast to call the team together. He did a quick rundown of all the things they needed to go over before the next practice and made sure to thank them for their hard work. They hadn’t lost a single regular season game, yet, and he knew they had a good shot at advancing in the upcoming tournaments. He was proud of their progress and even a bit proud of himself for being able to get the job done. 

 

Once he had passed out the itinerary for their next game and dismissed his team, John gathered up the cones and balls and chucked them into a large mesh bag. When a voice beside him suddenly spoke, it caught him off guard and he jumped slightly before smiling up at its owner.

 

“You do well with that, you know; being a leader, taking charge, doing what you have to in order to see results,” Sherlock stated, seeming to have found his voice - and confidence - since their last interaction. As Sherlock smiled knowingly down at him, John let his attention trail from those stunning eyes to give the man a thorough once-over, assessing his situation for the evening. He was now wearing a thick overcoat with the collar turned up against the wind that had ruffled his curls into a chaotic array of perfection. The stark contrast of the taller man’s hair and coat complemented his sharp, alabaster features in such a way that gave John the impression that he was going to be in for a long night of flirting with temptation.

 

Shaking the thought from his head, John chuckled lightly and smiled up at his friend, “Ta, I appreciate the praise, but it’s the boys that put in the work. If I didn’t have kids that wanted to put in the effort none of my yelling and cursing would do much good, I’m afraid,”. He felt the flirtatious air of their usual dynamic wrapping around him and, once again, found it hard to resist the urge to push it a little bit further. “Why don’t we get out of here and find something to eat, hm? I’m starving,” he suggested, raising his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk. 

 

“Are you now?” the taller man mused, tilting his head to one side.

 

As Sherlock raised his own eyebrows in a suggestive response, John slung the equipment bag over his shoulder while his overconfident freehand found its way to the collar of his friend’s ridiculously expensive overcoat. He wrapped his fingers around the edge of the thick fabric and gave it a firm tug to bring the taller man’s face closer to his own in one swift motion. John stared up into wide, crystal-blue eyes and let his tongue dart over his bottom lip as he pulled it between his teeth; the gesture causing Sherlock’s pulse to quicken. 

 

John’s proverbial tiger let out a purr of amusement, feeling the sound physically reverberating in his chest as he puckered his lips in a quick, teasing kiss to the air between them and dropping a quick wink before he let go of Sherlock’s coat collar, trailing the blunt tips of his fingers down that long neck and over the edge of a collarbone. The action earned him an undignified gasp from his colleague and John felt the ears of the great cat flick forward in interest.  _ Oh, God, yes, tonight was going to be fun... _

  
  


\----------

  
  
  


The ride to John’s flat was pretty uneventful as they parked behind the building and made their way in through what Sherlock presumed was the back entrance to the main floor. John swiped his keycard through the slot at the door and gave a little jerk of his chin that suggested he should follow. His colleague had asked when they stepped up into the cab of his truck if Sherlock would mind stopping off at his place first so that he had the chance to change his clothes and freshen up before they went to dinner. He hadn’t been bothered by the suggestion at first and was now following John up the stairs to the third floor where they stopped in front of the first door on their left. John used his keycard once more to unlock the door and he took a step back, motioning for Sherlock to enter first as he pushed the door open for him. 

 

As he stepped into the small living room, his entire body seemed to stiffen as if on high alert. The consequences that could come from this sort of thoughtless decision had been lost on Sherlock before now. He wasn’t exactly sure what had made him think that it would be a good idea to encourage something so personal -  _ so intimate  _ \- during their first rendezvous outside of work. This was most definitely  _ not  _ Sherlock’s area and he could already feel the strain in his chest that came with being way in over his head. Being in John Watson’s flat was like allowing a direct assault on his senses as his skills of deduction exploded with the overload of information threatening to drown him.

 

He felt John slip into the space behind him, hanging the sweaty baseball cap up on a hook beside the door frame. The shorter man’s fingers brushed over Sherlock’s shoulders as he tugged at the heavy coat, ever so slightly. 

 

“Want me to take your coat? You can make yourself at home, if you’d like. I’m probably going to need a shower if you want to be able to sit at the same table with me without passing out,” John chuckled, leaning around to smile reassuringly at him.

 

Sherlock’s jaw clenched at the thought and he tucked his hands deep in the pockets of his Belstaff to keep from pulling it even more tightly around himself. “N-no, it’s ok. I’d like to keep it if that’s alright, but, by all means, yes, please shower. It won’t do for you to smell like the boys locker room while we’re trying to eat. That may make it a bit more difficult to keep our dinner down,” he answered, his lips fixed into a tight smile as he tried to seem more at ease than he was.

 

John seemed to find his acting believable, however, and he felt his heart stutter just a beat or two as those brilliant navy blue eyes softened ever so slightly while they held his gaze. “Alright,” he smirked and gave Sherlock’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before he backed away, “Just let me grab a quick shower and make myself look worthy of taking you out, and we can be on our way,”.

 

Feeling grateful for the fact that he only needed to nod his response, Sherlock let out a sigh of relief as he heard the bathroom door click closed behind him. If he could just survive this most impromptu visit to John’s most personal space, then he would be alright. He had known John for over a year and, while he found it easy to navigate conversation in the workplace, the very thought of having to engage his friend for an extended period of time in his own flat was very intimidating, indeed. Where Sherlock was confident in his special skills, John was confident in every subject seemingly known to man. With dirty-blonde hair and a scruffy face that made him look rugged and twice as handsome, he honestly did have a lot going for him in every aspect. He was athletic and charming, intelligent and funny, kind and witty. There really wasn’t anything that he could imagine John not being good at and the way he carried himself was a testament to that. Confidence and charm radiated off of him like static electricity, shocking Sherlock’s entire being whenever he least expected it. He knew what the man was capable of doing to him with that charismatic smile and those soul shattering navy blue eyes, but he was drawn to John like a moth to a flame. He was everything Sherlock had never known he needed and the thought terrified him in a way that he couldn’t quite comprehend. They laughed, they flirted, they teased, and, lately, John had started to touch, to feel… to brand him with light traces of himself whether it was with a brush of his lips or the gentle touch of his fingertips. Sherlock had fallen hard and fast and the flame that was his workmate drew him closer and closer, consuming his every thought and pushing him deeper into uncharted territory. As fast and wonderfully as his friend had swept him off of his feet, he had tried and failed to keep his wits about him; only the inevitable remained, now: the burn that was sure to come from falling for John Watson. 

 

The sound of the shower tap being shut off broke through the chaos of Sherlock’s mind and he suddenly realised he’d been pacing back and forth between the coffee table and fireplace of the small sitting room. Allowing himself a moment to pause and take in his surroundings for the first time, he did a quick scan of the room to calm his nerves, taking in the cool grey of the walls that complimented the charcoal-grey leather sofa, a deep burgundy colored coffee table that matched the twin bookcases - obviously filled to the brim with various mystery titles and historical texts - on either side of the fireplace, as well as the black rug under his feet. While everything in the room fit neatly together in a perfect color scheme, one thing in particular stuck out like a sore thumb; an oversized tattered-looking, old armchair tucked cozily into one corner of the room beside a small end table with a lamp - definitely not up to par with any other furniture in the room... Sentiment, then. That was the only logical explanation for the object to even be allowed to coexist with the finer pieces in the room in the first place.

 

Something about the chair’s presence comforted him and Sherlock couldn’t resist the urge to analyse it. He reached out a hand to trace his fingers over the grey velvety floral pattern that stood out nicely against the worn, red fabric. His fingers found worn divots in the arm of the chair and he pressed lightly - years of having larger hands resting in the same place every time the person sat… previous owner judging by the hand size. The indentations were closer to Sherlock’s hand size and John’s hands were fairly smaller.

 

His gaze flicked up to get a good look at the rest of the chair and he noticed a grey and red flannel blanket folded neatly over the back of it. Much like the chair, it had seen better days; the threading was bare in a few places that he could see and the edges were fraying after many years of being clung to like a life preserver. The thought struck Sherlock in a way that nothing else had. Although both the chair and blanket had belonged to someone else many years ago, he could picture a much younger John curled up in the seat of the chair, clutching the blanket to him…. and shaking? Not from the cold, but fear, perhaps? Fear, stress, anxiety, grief… several emotional struggles sprang to the forefront of Sherlock’s mind and it was like the final piece of his panoramic John Watson puzzle clicked into place.

 

“It was my dad’s,” John supplied from behind him and Sherlock hesitated a moment before he opened his eyes - when had he closed them? - and turned to see his friend standing in the middle of the room. 

 

Sherlock couldn’t have been completely sure, but he would wager a guess, later, that he had definitely stopped breathing. John was behind him, alright; he stood completely nude save for the towel he clutched a little too loosely around his waist, exposing much more of his outer-left thigh than he was likely aware of, giving Sherlock an even better idea of his build. He definitely had the legs of a runner: powerful in his thighs and calves and longer than one would have thought. He was standing barefoot on the rug and the slight dripping of his towel dried hair caught Sherlock’s attention. 

 

“Your father’s. Right. I knew it hadn’t originally belonged to you, but I hadn’t sussed out all of the details, yet,” Sherlock lied, feeling almost as if he’d been caught prying into John’s private life a bit more than he should have been. 

 

But, John only smiled, a knowing look crossing his features, and shifted his weight to his other hip which sent Sherlock’s gaze sweeping over him again. The muscles in his stomach and chest were a bit more defined than Sherlock had expected, but he could tell that they had been softening up over the past few months. John’s shoulders and arms were thicker than he would have thought possible as well, but it made sense with the way he carried himself so confidently as he walked the halls at work. 

 

One particular detail of John’s body struck Sherlock like lightning, having one of his earliest deductions confirmed. A solitary bullet-wound scar was evident at John’s left shoulder and was surrounded by an angry expanse of mangled scar tissue. Sherlock had known that the man had been invalided home from the war and had even known he’d been shot. He did not, however, understand nor realise the full extent of his injuries. 

 

The revelation of this new information only made Sherlock sink deeper into his admiration for the wonderous man before him and, seeing him so open like this, was doing a number on Sherlock’s mind palace as he committed every tiny detail to memory. John was built to match his spirited personality: seemingly compact, but sturdy and explosive with so much more to himself than would generally meet the eye. 

 

“It’s ok, you know,” John stated, almost reassuringly, as he took a step closer and rested a hand on Sherlock’s elbow, startling the taller man once again. He really needed to reign himself in. He needed to concentrate on something other than the towel-clad form in front of him which was proving to be much easier said than done, what with John touching him as he was.

 

“What’s ok?”  Sherlock asked, relieved to hear that his voice sounded as steady as it did as he narrowed his eyes in confusion and hoped that his friend hadn’t felt offended under his intense scrutiny.

 

A lighthearted chuckle fell from those perfect lips as John secured the towel around his waist and brought both of his hand up to cup Sherlock’s face, the pads of his thumbs brushing gently over his cheekbones as a heavy blush consumed them. “You, you crazy thing. Staring, blushing, I don’t mind at all, really,” his words barely above a whisper, almost as if he were trying to calm a skittish cat. 

 

Sherlock’s mind was reeling as he did his best to remain in control of his actions without embarrassing himself. It took him longer than he would’ve liked to find his voice, but he had to try insanely hard to keep his tone calm and unwavering.

 

“Is that so?” he finally managed, blinking as calmly as he could down into the shorter man’s face as he felt his insides swimming with the all too familiar desire for more.

 

Something in John’s eyes changed, then. A flicker of the determination that comes from a challenge accepted with the intensity of a predator on the prowl as his gaze dropped to Sherlock’s lips and Sherlock watched as John’s pink tongue darted out to swipe over his bottom lip in anticipation. 

 

“Sherlock?” John breathed, the word a question as it dawned on the taller man that he was asking permission. 

 

Sherlock could only nod once in confirmation before John’s lips crashed into his, wild and hungry at first, before settling into a well versed rhythm; months of wanting and waiting crashing down over the both of them. He panted into the blonde’s kisses when John’s tongue pressed further, seeking to explore and map out every square inch of Sherlock’s mouth as he kissed back with shared enthusiasm. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced and he let his eyes drift close in ecstasy. John was skilled, that was certain, as his tongue tangled with Sherlock’s, licking, sucking, and coaxing him further down into the kiss. 

 

Blunt fingertips worked their way up into the soft curls at the nape of Sherlock’s neck and, when John gave them an experimental tug, his head dropped back instantly, breaking their kiss as a moan escaped his lips and he felt his knees begin to buckle. John was quick and alert, though, as he dropped one arm to catch the taller man about the waist while Sherlock gripped at his shoulders to steady himself.

  
“Easy, there,” he heard John whisper against his ear with a low chuckle. He had felt John reach up to brush the messy curls from his forehead, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple, just as the words had left his lips; his laughter softening into a quiet moan. “Christ, you are gorgeous…” the shorter man breathed, sending a shiver down Sherlock’s spine as the weight of those words washed over him. John Watson had just  _ kissed  _ him and called him  _ gorgeous _ …


	2. Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Watson is a master of seduction; Sherlock Holmes is putty in his hands... ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! Thanks for enjoying this and sticking with me! After many requests I’m planning on continuing this for a few more chapters! I’ve got a little plot outline so my teacher boys are going to hang around for a while longer ;)

Lashes fluttered closed over cerulean eyes as a moan escaped those perfect Cupid’s bow lips and it took all that John had in him to refrain from giving Sherlock’s curls another desperate tug. He was so damn responsive that it sent a dangerous ache straight to the vet’s towel-clad groin. A soft moan left his own lips as he praised Sherlock’s gorgeous features and the results were far more than he could have ever hoped for. The sounds that emanated from the taller man were enough to drive John completely out of his mind and it was beginning to get the better of him; the towel around his waist not doing much to conceal his arousal as he tightened his grip at Sherlock’s waist and pulled him flush against his body.

“John…?” the deep baritone rumbled cautiously in Sherlock’s chest, seeking approval as he drew a shuddering breath. 

“Yes?” John whispered, questioningly. He leaned forward to press a quick kiss to Sherlock’s bottom lip then captured it between his teeth, nipping wantonly at it before running his tongue over the reddened flesh in an attempt to soothe the sting. The request Sherlock had wanted to make seemingly died in his throat as it was replaced with yet another heady moan.

The way John’s name rolled off of that delicious tongue teased the animalistic instincts of the tiger in John’s chest, giving way to a desperate need to sink his claws into the man in his arms and wring every last ounce of pleasure from his body. It was becoming painfully obvious to him that, if this continued as it was, they most certainly were not going to make it to dinner.

Sherlock’s fingers dug into the bare skin at John’s shoulders, desperately trying to pull him closer as John made a move to wedge his thigh between the taller man’s legs, only to find himself hindered by the thick fabric of the Belstaff coat. A lighthearted laugh graced his lips and John took a step back, breaking their kiss, and sliding his hands along Sherlock’s body as he hooked his fingers into the pockets of the coat and tugged. 

“As much as I love the way this looks on you, it is rendering my efforts a bit more useless than I had anticipated,” he quipped, nuzzling his partner and relishing the faint blush that spread across Sherlock’s ridiculous cheekbones. He watched as Sherlock’s features split into an amused grin and he couldn’t resist bringing a hand up to cup the side of the taller man’s face. 

Sherlock leaned into the touch, letting his own hands fall lazily to John’s hips - cheeks blazing an even deeper shade of red than before as his fingers grazed the fabric of the towel - and he cleared his throat. “So… I suppose we should probably get ready for dinner,” he suggested, keeping his tone light as he cast a sideways glance toward the front door of the flat.

 

John barked out a laugh that he couldn’t quite contain as he crossed his arms over his bare chest and smirked, an eyebrow arching in a playful challenge. “And by ‘we’, you really just mean ‘me’, right?” he asked, feigning offense at the supposed implication. Much to his delight, Sherlock bit his bottom lip and John was rewarded with the sweet sound of genuine laughter. The joy he felt at being able to pull such a wonderful sound from his friend’s lips was more satisfying than anything else he had ever accomplished in his life and it gave him an even greater surge of confidence when Sherlock spoke again.

“Well, you are the one standing here, clothed only in a towel, and I do believe it is frowned upon to go traipsing about all over London in such a state of indecency,” the taller man stated, rather pointedly, fighting a losing battle in an attempt to keep the amusement out of his voice as he gestured to his friend’s lower half. 

Catching Sherlock’s wrist, John shot him his most impish grin and brought Sherlock’s hand up to rest over the knot at his hip where the towel was secured. “Well… If it’s that offensive, why don’t you remove it for me then?” he teased, brushing his nose to Sherlock’s as he felt him stiffen completely in front of him. The sensation of startling a man like Sherlock Holmes into stunned silence set the great cat in John’s chest purring avidly and he pulled back just far enough to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. The curly-haired genius stared at him with wide eyes and his lips parted in a quiet gasp; the tension in the air so thick it was becoming hard to breathe. 

John let his features soften although he still held Sherlock’s hand firmly in place over his hip, “I wasn’t teasing when I called you gorgeous, and I know that we’ve only just come out with each other outside of work, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t want this,”. His voice was quiet and neutral as he spoke, trying desperately not to frighten the other man away. “I just couldn’t stand by and pretend when I feel that being honest is the best way to keep out confusion, keep me from running the risk that my actions might be misread. Now, I have the utmost respect for you, and I would never push you to do anything that you didn’t want to do… However, with that being said, I can help you out of that coat and you can rid me of this ridiculous towel, and we can do as much or as little as you’re willing to do…. or… you can shove my arrogant arse back down that hallway and tell me to get dressed and I will take you out just like I promised and I’ll still be just as excited as I was when we first walked through that door,”.

As John’s words tumbled out of his mouth, he felt as if he’d just laid his heart bare, flayed open for the entire world to look upon and pick apart piece by piece. Sherlock was studying him intently as his brilliant blue gaze searched John’s face for any sign of dishonesty or well-versed acting. Standing stock-still, John stared intently back at the taller man, hoping with everything he had in him that the remarkable man believed him and knew that he could never do anything to hurt him or lose his trust.

After what seemed like hours, Sherlock cleared his throat and dropped his eyes to the floor, blinking slowly as he spoke, “I am truly flattered and moved by your chivalrous declarations, John, and I must say that I do share your enthusiasm for our connection, no matter how intensely I tried to ignore it at first. Sentiment has never really been something that I excelled at, I am afraid,”. He paused a moment, licking his lips as his nerves seemed to get the better of him, but he quelled his anxiety and looked John dead in the face as his next words changed everything, “As you stated moments ago: with that being said, I believe I would love nothing more than to cancel our dinner plans for the evening in favor of simply seeing where the night takes us…”. 

The words struck John with such force that he thought for sure his heart might explode as it hammered in his chest, spurring the tiger into a fit of excitement. He grinned so wide that he felt a pain in his cheeks as Sherlock dipped his head and removed his heavy coat, presenting it to him. John turned just far enough away so that he could drape it over the back of the chair beside them before turning his attention back to the taller man.

Without the coverage of the expensive overcoat, John was finally able to appreciate his partner’s body much more than he had been able to before. The heavy fabric concealed Sherlock’s lean form and had given him a very closed off look. Now that it had been removed, however, John couldn’t help but stare, letting his eyes rake over Sherlock’s body with ease.

As he lifted his gaze back to Sherlock’s, what he saw in his crystal eyes nearly took his breath away. The shyness from before had melted away and had been replaced with a look of suppressed longing as he eyed John like he had never properly appraised him until now. The heated gaze was enough to make the shorter man’s face flush with a faint twinge of self-consciousness, but he held his head high as he allowed Sherlock to take all of him in. 

Even in his youth, John had never really been embarrassed of his body and had often been praised by members of both sexes for his confidence and the way he carried himself. He knew that, overall, he was considered fairly attractive by most people’s standards and he’d never had any trouble trying to pull a companion for an evening of intimacy. Granted, the promiscuity of his early years in the army had earned him the moniker of “Three Continents Watson” which at the time he had worn like a badge of honor, but, now, under the intense scrutiny of Sherlock Holmes he actually began to wonder just how much of his reputation had preceded him. He knew that Sherlock had a connection to Mike Stamford, and he couldn’t ignore the fact that Mike loved to brag about their army days to anyone that would listen; but, did that mean Sherlock knew anything about his previous exploits? The idea wasn’t exactly that John was embarrassed of his reputation, but more so that his usual repertoire of sexual advances might not be enough to hold the attention of a man as brilliant as Sherlock for an extended period of time. After all, John had never encountered anyone like him before in his life. 

As his thoughts ran away from him, John noticed a subtle glimmer in Sherlock’s eyes and he drew his shoulders back in an effort to appear taller as the other man took a step towards him. Sherlock’s expression was mild and unwavering as he brought a hand up to ghost gently over the thick stubble along John’s jawline, dragging his short, manicured nails against the growth of the coarse hair. The touch sent a shiver down John’s spine and he blinked slowly before looking up into Sherlock’s eyes.

“Well? Like what you see?” John asked, his voice sounding deeper than usual as if he hadn’t used it in days. The smirk that worked its way over Sherlock’s features made John’s toes curl into the threadbare rug beneath his feet and he licked his lips in anticipation.

“Mmm,” the taller man hummed, appreciatively, as he nodded in confirmation. “I must admit that I have always found you to be very easy on the eyes, Dr. Watson, but I was vastly unprepared for the revelation that you are even more so like this,”. He dropped his gaze to John’s bare chest as if to explain and John instinctively straightened his posture as Sherlock’s other hand came up to hover over the remnants of the old bullet wound that had landed him back in London. “May I?”

The question was gentle and unintrusive, a genuine request to simply gather information and not to judge, but the relevance of such an intimate request was not lost on John in the slightest. It was a demonstration of trustworthiness and respect for the things John had endured during his time at war; a bold attempt to establish a connection with him on a more humbling level. It was one thing to bare your supposed insecurities to someone, but another thing entirely to allow them to explore them freely.

For John, this part of an encounter with a new partner was one that he usually dreaded and tried to brush aside in favor of other far more interesting places he preferred to be touched. However, as Sherlock’s fingertips lingered just above the spider web of gnarled skin, John felt the usual tension in his shoulders relax and something in the man’s open expression told him that he meant no disrespect. It wasn’t that John was ashamed of the marks left on his body, but more so that he despised the looks of sympathy and pity that he was usually coddled with after. Most people then tended to regard him as if he were something that was once broken, only just pieced back together and should be handled with care if he were ever to be touched at all. 

Just as Sherlock was about to lower his hand in concession, John cleared his throat quietly and nodded his head. “Of course you can…. I trust you,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he held Sherlock’s gaze and tried to look as indifferent as possible to what his partner was about to do.

**********

(Sherlock’s POV)

 

The words left John’s lips in a way that seemed somewhat forced at first, causing Sherlock to process a quick once-over of the other man’s body in order to be certain that he wasn’t encroaching on something that John usually held in private regard. Nothing of consequence was evident in his friend’s body language and that allowed him to feel more at ease as he made the decision to proceed. Sherlock smiled tightly, and didn’t take his eyes off of John’s as he eased his hand forward; his brow furrowing only for a second as John’s skin twitched at the unfamiliar touch to his scar tissue. 

Once the soldier seemed to relax under his touch, Sherlock traced the pattern of the scar with his middle and index fingers, marveling at the angry web of tissue that marred John’s perfect skin. He dipped his middle finger into the divot in the center that marked where the bullet had entered John’s shoulder and saw John’s eyes close as Sherlock explored him. As he studied the old war wound, it was hard to believe just how close the soldier had actually come to meeting his end. The thought sent a chill down Sherlock’s spine as he closed his eyes, whispering a silent ‘thank you’ to a deity he had never really believed in as he struggled to think what his life would have been like had John Watson not returned to take up a teaching position in London. 

Sherlock had always been a loner in life, someone who much preferred the superiority of his own company to the company of others, even from a very young age. He had had no use for friends or companionship of any kind, marking such things off as a distraction from more important things such as his schooling and his work. Then, there was John. 

The moment Sherlock laid eyes on him at the start of term faculty meeting, he had been surprised to find himself intrigued by his presence. It was odd to see a man of his age starting his teaching career so late in life and quickly deduced that he had been a soldier from the moment he left university. It was all too easy really with the way he carried himself and always seemed to stand with dignity and pride, despite the obvious signs of a nearly fatal injury and significant trauma. He observed the way his eyes snapped up at the most subtle of sounds and admired the strong sense of self-preservation that seemed to lie just below the surface of the easy-going facade he put on for his employer's sake. 

The sometimes deep pockets of sleep deprivation under his eyes were accented by the faintest smudges of darkness even on his better days and that realisation hadn’t settled well with Sherlock since he had discovered it. Nightmares, then…. PTSD? No. It had been a different sort of anxiety that had been trudging the disturbing dreams back up night after night. Being sent back home broken and damaged had not scarred John’s mind at all. Quite the opposite, in fact - he missed the war. He missed the way it felt to fulfill his purpose in life, to be able to offer up his service in exchange for the adventure and danger that he craved so explicitly. That wasn’t something he was ever going to find sitting behind a desk, listening to the spoilt ramblings of London’s teenage populace.

No, the mere knowledge of this fact alone made him interesting to Sherlock. John Watson was a puzzle; a mystery to be unraveled if only he could ever get the courage to explore it. 

And now, here he was. Inches from John’s face with his fingers pressed tenderly into the one thing that had brought John to him in London and he wouldn’t squander the gift that he had been given in this moment. Sherlock dipped his head and smoothed his fingertips over the scar once more before he pressed his lips to the intricate web of tissue, feeling John gasp sharply and go completely rigid beneath his lips.

“Sherlock…” John whispered, a hint of uncertainty in the word. The soldier swallowed thickly and Sherlock raised his chin so that he could look John in the eye once more. He didn’t say anything in response; he just let John’s eyes sweep over his expression, letting him search for the clarification he needed on his own. As John’s eyes seemed to pick apart every aspect of his face, Sherlock stayed perfectly still, allowing himself only to blink as needed so that John could work this out.

It didn’t take long before John let out a shallow breath and the edge of his lips curled up ever so slightly in a grateful smile. He finally seemed to understand everything that Sherlock had been trying to convey and it filled him with a rush of emotion as he realised that he hadn’t even needed to speak a word. Throwing caution to the wind once again, Sherlock followed the pull of his emotions and pressed forward to capture John’s lips in a searing kiss, pulling the other man as close as he was physically able.

********** 

(John’s POV)

John ran his hands up and over his partner’s biceps, clutching at the fabric of his suit, as he deepened their kiss. Long fingers threaded through the thick mess of his damp hair and he let out a desperate groan as his colleague tugged the sensitive follicles and teased his scalp. Kissing Sherlock was everything he had ever wanted and more, and the longer he had the brilliant man beneath his fingertips, he couldn’t wait to get that damned suit off. He yearned to return the favor of such an intimate gesture and discover what he hid beneath the protective barrier of his perfectly posh suits that made him seem so out of reach. As he groped and kneaded, he could feel lean muscles straining beneath his grip and the thought of getting him completely naked sent a tremor down his spine. The taller man’s tongue slid against his in a stroke of greedy possession and John licked into his mouth to claim him in return, eliciting a soft moan of appreciation as he did so. 

Tangling his fingers in the smooth lapels of the jacket, he tugged Sherlock closer as he nipped teasingly at the pout of that plush bottom lip before pressing an affectionate kiss to the bite. Sherlock’s eyelids fluttered as he moaned loudly and dipped his head back, exposing the tender skin of his neck. The army vet licked his lips automatically before nosing under his partner’s chin and licking a thick stripe up the column of his throat, relishing in the shudder he was rewarded with. 

“God, John,.” Sherlock groaned, tugging harder on John’s hair in an attempt to pull him back up to his lips as the shorter man licked and sucked at the soft skin of his throat. The words were a ragged whisper caught between labored breaths and John pressed a chaste kiss to his Adam’s apple before pulling back to look at his partner.

Sherlock’s skin radiated with the hot flush of arousal that spread from those gorgeous cheekbones, down his neck, as it disappeared into the open vee of the silk button down he wore and pale blue eyes stared hungrily down at him as he blinked slowly. His lips were parted in a sensual gasp and he couldn’t resist the urge to trace their shape with the tip of his nose, smiling softly as Sherlock pressed his lips together in a kiss as John nosed over the delicate skin. 

The innocent gesture caused the tiger to purr with delight and John grazed his teeth gently over the tip of Sherlock’s nose. The taller man’s chest rumbled as a chuckle escaped his lips and he kissed John through a smile, wrinkling his nose with a lighthearted laugh as the veteran cut the kiss short and snapped his teeth together, flicking his eyebrows up suggestively and allowing his playful side to tease him. 

“Please…” Sherlock whispered, leaning forward to brush his nose against John’s before tilting his head to give him access to his jaw with a blissful smile.

The blazing warmth of the smile that the gesture revealed mirrored the deep affection running through John’s veins and he began to let his guard drop more and more to let it shine through. “Of course,” he whispered back, nipping and kissing along his partner’s jawline. Dipping his head to kiss Sherlock’s chin, he nosed his way to the hollow of the taller man’s throat and pressed a gentle kiss into the dip before kissing further down into the open vee of his shirt. 

He felt Sherlock’s fingers card through his hair once again just as he began to squirm beneath the soldier’s tongue. “John… oh, please, John,” he moaned, tightening his grip as John licked and sucked at his collarbone.

Kissing softly back up the line of Sherlock’s throat, John tilted his chin and rubbed the coarse hair of his stubble against the taller man’s neck, scratching and teasing the skin as Sherlock hummed in approval. “Tell me what you want, Sherlock,” John breathed out, trailing more kisses up his partner’s jawline until he reached his ear. He licked lazily at the inner edge and then blew air lightly over the path his tongue had traced.

Sherlock gasped out a breath as a shiver ran down his spine. The action brought yet another playful smirk to John’s lips as he pulled back to observe his partner.

“Tell me what you want me to do to you,” John prompted again. He brought one hand up to trace the strong line of the taller man’s jaw in an attempt to coax a response out of him.

“Anything,” Sherlock finally whispered, his eyes fighting to remain open, “anything at all,”.

The tiger that had been pacing in John’s chest growled victoriously as its entire demeanor shifted, turning downright predatory as a fire blazed behind John’s navy blue eyes. He surged forward one last time, crushing his lips to Sherlock’s, establishing his intent on dominance, before pulling back to fix his partner with a commanding gaze. 

“Bed, now,” he ordered, shooting a sideways glance down the hallway that gave Sherlock all the information he needed to do exactly as John commanded. Watching him nod once in understanding before starting down the hallway, John licked over his lips, pausing to pull his bottom lip between his teeth as he let his eyes rake over Sherlock’s backside. He drew in a deep breath in an attempt to tame the impatient tiger and then stalked down the hall after his prey.


	3. Yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock finds himself in the bedroom of one John Watson and is a bit unsure of how to proceed. John finds himself intrigued at the prospect and does his best to reassure Sherlock, determined to make this the best experience of his life.

John Watson’s bedroom. What the hell had he been thinking? 

Sherlock sighed and leaned hesitantly against the door frame. He had come to the realization that he was very, very agreeable under the influence of the drug that was his colleague and it hadn't taken long for him to see that the man made him completely, irrepressibly stupid. As he lingered in the doorway to the other man’s bedroom, Sherlock concluded that it was more empty than he had imagined it would be. Everything else about John’s personality seemed bright and energetic, but he had sensed an underlying hint of an emotion that he had never quite pinned down. However, looking around the bare-bones bedroom, Sherlock realised that the emotion that he had been missing looked very much like loneliness. There were no knick-knacks or personal photographs of any kind on the bedside table or dresser and the bed was made to military precision, looking markedly not slept in. The only other piece of furniture in the room was a small writing desk in which a laptop was perched. An overly padded desk chair was pushed in beneath the desk and a lightweight coat was draped over the back of it.

“You okay?” 

John’s voice was soft in his ear as he brushed his fingertips tentatively over Sherlock’s hips, pressing a gentle kiss to the side of his neck. Sherlock had been so deep in his analysis of the room that he hadn’t even registered the shorter man coming up behind him. 

Sherlock cleared his throat and nodded. “Yes, of course,” he answered, a tight smile gracing his lips as he turned to face John.

John was watching him intently with a hint of concern in his closely knit eyebrows, but a quick flash of understanding seemed to pass over him. Before Sherlock could even attempt to deduce what he had seen, the corners of John’s mouth curled into a grin and his expression softened. Something in Sherlock’s head told him that he should be more wary of the sudden change, but the rest of his body had begun to relax in a way that he had never thought possible until now.

John slid his hands from Sherlock’s hips and caught hold of his hands instead as he stepped around the taller man, tugging him further into the room. He had no idea what might happen from here, but Sherlock did his best to put one foot in front of the other without falling over. His long legs felt like lead and the way John’s navy blue eyes flickered with a mischievous gleam made Sherlock’s knees feel like they were going to give out on him at any second. 

The soldier led him over to the bed and sat down on the edge as he pulled Sherlock into a hug, holding him between his spread legs. In this position, the taller man found himself looking down on John’s shaggy blonde head where he was nuzzled adoringly into Sherlock’s chest. Reflexively, his arms slipped around John’s bare shoulders and he let the fingertips of his right hand trace gentle circles through the hair at the nape of his neck.

John hummed in appreciation against his shirt and fingered Sherlock’s suit jacket open with a smirk. It was a smugness that only he could possess while being completely naked with only a towel to cover himself whereas Sherlock remained fully-clothed. But, oh, what that smugness did to Sherlock.

“Mmm, let’s get this off of you, hm?” the soldier suggested, his blunt fingertips playing along the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt. 

Sherlock swallowed thickly as he nodded in agreement; his head swimming with the infinite possibilities that were soon to come. John worked over the shirt buttons with an ease that came from many years of experience and with each new inch of pale skin that was exposed, he kissed and licked his way down, stopping just short of the waistband of Sherlock’s trousers. The taller man felt his toes curl uncomfortably in his shoes and he took a steadying breath in an attempt to calm himself as John dragged his scruffy cheek over his belly and pulled back to look up at him. 

“Sherlock?” He asked, pressing a kiss to his navel and darting his tongue out to taste the skin there as he held the taller man’s gaze. Christ, John was going to kill him one day with those eyes and that sinful mouth.

“Yes, John?” Sherlock managed, all too aware of the familiar thickening of arousal in his trousers. John must have noticed it as well because for a split second, his eyes darted to Sherlock’s zipper and he licked over his bottom lip absentmindedly before meeting his gaze again. 

The blonde smiled up at him softly and settled his hands on the taller man’s hips as Sherlock’s shirt and jacket hung open. “You sure this is alright?” John asked patiently; one hand trailing up along Sherlock’s chest hesitantly as he sought permission once more. The taller man shuddered as John’s fingers brushed over his left nipple and he tried - and failed - to suppress the low whine that slipped from his lips. 

The sound seemed to delight John completely as he moaned in response and brushed his thumb over Sherlock’s lips to coax his eyes open again. When had he closed them? He opened his eyes to find John gazing up at him. There was a tenderness in his features that Sherlock hadn’t seen before and he should have wondered what had brought it on, but he had already fallen victim to it. Another amazing talent that only John seemed to possess. 

Realising that he hadn’t responded, Sherlock lifted his arms from John’s shoulders to help remove his jacket and shirt. He let the garments fall to the floor, trying with all his might to resist the urge to fold them up properly. In order to refocus his attention, he glanced at John to see deep blue eyes staring at him, slightly slack-jawed. 

The soldier’s hands settled over Sherlock’s hips once again before his curious fingers began their shameless exploration of the newly exposed skin. John’s touch was firm but gentle, sending Sherlock’s synapses into a complete whirlwind. The calloused fingertips burned into his skin as if John were marking him with his own personal brand and he could feel the heated press of John’s lips trailing wet, bristly kisses over the places his hands had been. 

A soft groan left Sherlock’s lips as John dipped his head and his tongue lapped suggestively over one of the taller man’s sharp hip bones. The blonde nipped at the sensitive skin, eliciting a sharp gasp from Sherlock, before he kissed his way to the waistband of his partner’s expensive trousers. Hooking his top teeth over the edge of the waistband and pulling the fabric between his teeth, he looked up at Sherlock mischievously through thick eyelashes. The impish smirk that teased the soldier’s lips short circuited Sherlock’s mind and he reached his left hand up to cup John’s cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb over the outline of his scruff. John closed his eyes and leaned into the touch, tugging more insistently on the fabric clenched between his teeth. 

Fuck…. 

John Watson truly was going to be the death of him.

 

********** 

John felt his teeth scrap gently over the smooth skin at Sherlock’s hip bone as he captured the waistband of the taller man’s trousers between his teeth. Above him, he could see his partner’s gaze clouding over as he smirked up at him, teasingly. His heart beat rapidly and he was certain the proverbial tiger in his chest was making itself known in the lustful heat of his blue eyes.

Sherlock’s thumb brushed his jaw, catching on the coarse hairs there, and, Christ, that felt nice… His eyes fluttered closed as his teeth tugged at the fabric in a desperate attempt to convey his desire. He heard the taller man shudder through a sharp intake of breath; the muttered curse that John was positive he wasn’t meant to hear driving him to press Sherlock further. 

The soldier clamped down harder on the fabric between his teeth as he pressed his face into his partner’s belly; burying his nose in the soft barely-there trail of hair that led to the very adamant erection currently pressing against John’s chin. The groan that escaped Sherlock’s lips let John know that he wasn’t alone in his wanting and he tugged suggestively at the hook of his partner’s trousers, silently requesting permission to continue. When a bitten-off gasp and shaky nod was all that he received in response, John tilted his chin up just enough to take in the wrecked appearance of the most brilliant man he had ever met. 

Sweaty curls were beginning to stick to his furrowed brow and his eyes were closed, pinched in an agonizing state of arousal. His bare chest was toned - his skin not quite as pale as John had expected - and his broad shoulders rose and fell staggeringly in time with his shallow breathing. The sight sent a jolt of impatience straight to John’s cock where it strained against the confines of the towel still around his waist. 

He felt Sherlock’s fingertips against his ear - drawing his attention back to the task at hand - as they worked their way up into the back of his thick blonde hair, tugging gently. The taller man bit down on his own lip as he let out a pleading whimper that he would later deny; a sound that would spur John’s feral instincts and cause him to throw caution to the wind. Snapping his chin to the left, he unhooked the closure of Sherlock’s trousers while he worked the zip down as quickly as possible. His fingers brushed his partner’s throbbing cock through black silk boxers and Sherlock’s entire lower body spasmed at the contact. 

The intensity of such a reaction didn’t deter John, however, as he curled his fingers around Sherlock’s length to give him an experimental stroke through the fabric of his boxers. The moan that the motion earned provoked a predatory growl from John’s throat. He licked a stripe up to his partner’s navel before replacing his hand with his lips to mouth teasingly over the clothed head of Sherlock’s cock. 

“John?” Sherlock panted; the man’s name a question on his lips. The soldier could practically hear his partner overthinking every minor detail of the situation and that just wasn’t on.

“Mmm?” John hummed, innocently as he let his tongue explore as much of Sherlock’s arousal as the black silk would allow. He let his tongue dart out to lap over the dampening fabric and he let his hands trail up and down his partner’s thighs. “What is it, love?” The question was innocent enough, although John knew the exact response those words would elicit from the taller man.

Sherlock blinked down at him rapidly as his mind processed the words, filing them away for later as he whimpered once again at the implication. “I… please, John… please,” he groaned, nudging his hips forward just so. 

John gripped his partner’s hips in response, holding him still, and smirked up at him with clear intent. “Ooohhh, no, sir. If you want something you’re going to have to use your words, Sherlock,” the soldier taunted as he schooled his features into mock disapproval. Leaning forward, John traced up the hard curve of the taller man’s clothed shaft with the tip of his nose as he let his voice drop to a sensual croon. “So… I’ll ask you again. What do you want, gorgeous?”

The response was pleading. A soft, rumbling moan. A brush of a thumb over John’s bottom lip prompting the soldier to press a lingering kiss to the soft pad as if in an attempt to fuse his own DNA into Sherlock's fingerprint. Blissful seafoam eyes met navy blue as the taller man tilted John’s chin up to look him in the eye. Though he tried to hide it, the flush of his cheeks told of his nervousness and John couldn’t help but find the whole scenario rather adorable. 

Yes… Sherlock Holmes was adorable when confronted with his sexual inexperience and John Watson would be damned if he wasn’t looking forward to exploiting that bit of information as often as possible. 

“I want -“ Sherlock’s voice cracked and he cleared his throat, a gentle shake of his head to refocus his thoughts, as he tried again. “Your mouth, John… please,”. 

He must have sensed the heavy arousal settling even deeper into John’s bones as his hesitation gave way to a spurt of confidence; a flirtatious smile blooming over his features. The soldier couldn’t resist the temptation to press him just a tiny bit further.

“And just what would you like me to do with my mouth, Sherlock?” 

The taunt struck Sherlock just as John had expected it would. His deep baritone forced a grunt of playful irritation that fell flat as Sherlock bent down to press his perfectly bowed lips to John’s ear, purring with a smirk of his own. 

“Please… suck me off, Captain…”

And FUCK, when had he deduced that? 

John felt the shift in his entire body as the tiger in his chest took control. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of Sherlock’s form-fitting boxers and snatched them down, clenching his teeth as he growled in earnest. In one fluid motion, his partner’s trousers and pants slid down over his slim hips, bunching up at his thighs. Above him, Sherlock’s breathing hitched in his throat and his long fingers found their way back to tangle in John’s hair. He felt the taller man tighten his grip as John leaned forward to lap at the swell of precome pooling at his slit. 

With the first pass of his tongue, the blonde felt his partner’s cock twitch with a violent shudder. He smirked to himself and flicked his tongue out to taste Sherlock once again. It had been a few years since John had done something like this with another man, but his rusty skills seemed to be enough for his eager partner. He moaned and keened with each pass of John’s tongue and it took all of the soldier’s self control to keep from bringing himself off right then and there. It just wouldn’t do to draw any attention to himself at this point. No, this was about Sherlock. From the moment they had set foot in the bedroom and John had seen the uncertainty in Sherlock’s eyes, he had set out to gain the other man’s trust and show him just how pleasurable such an experience could be. With every anxious reaction and as sensitive as Sherlock was, it wasn’t hard to draw the conclusion that Sherlock had never been touched like this before in his life by another human being. 

The thought alone gave John a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he did his best to push it aside as he licked a long, sensual stripe up the underside of Sherlock’s cock before engulfing the head completely. He felt the taller man’s knees buckle slightly with a groan and John gripped him around the waist to hold him upright. Pulling off of his partner’s cock, he pressed a tender kiss to Sherlock’s navel and stood to wrap his arms around the taller man as he nuzzled against his lear. 

“Wait! Don’t stop! I-I’m fine, John. Honestly. Please -” 

The protest died on Sherlock’s lips, however, as John silenced him with a kiss and nudged him back a bit; an adoring smile sweeping over his face. He knelt down and divested Sherlock of his shoes, trousers, and pants before standing upright again, cupping his partner’s jaw.

“Shh… I know. Let’s just get you comfortable so I can enjoy you properly without having to worry about you falling over on me, alright?” John chuckled and brushed an errant curl behind Sherlock’s ear. “Might bring the mood down a bit if you flatten me while I’ve got your prick shoved down my throat,”.

Sherlock’s eyes widened at that and he sputtered an incoherent response as John released his hold on him just long enough to pull the desk chair out, gesturing with a tilt of his head indicating that Sherlock should sit. 

He let out a lighthearted laugh when the taller man didn’t budge - still flustered by the abrupt way John spoke of their activities - and he stepped around to nudge him toward the chair. “Relax, love. I’m only having a go at you; just trying to loosen you up a bit. You don’t have to be so tense. I mean, I am trying to blow your bloody mind here, so it would be nice if you’d give me all the help I could get. But, I won’t hold it against you,”.

The blush that rose up on Sherlock’s cheeks spread rapidly down his neck and over the pale expanse of his chest as his mouth dropped open, gaping at John in disbelief. The sight made John laugh out loud and he shook his head with a fond smile as he raised two fingers to Sherlock’s chest, pushing him back to flop down into the padded chair. 

The soldier dropped back down to crouch between Sherlock’s knees, gripping his flagging erection and stroking him back to a more hardened state. 

“God, John… Feels so good. So so good...” Sherlock panted, gripping the arm of the chair; his knuckles white with tension. Another fond smile from John and a kiss to his inner thigh elicited a quiet gasp from his throat and he bit down on his bottom lip in an attempt to prepare himself for what was to come. 

John grinned up at him and used his free hand to pry each of Sherlock’s hands from their death grip on the chair. “Here. Do this for me,” he instructed, guiding each of his partner’s hands into his hair, “You can control how much we do from here. If you tug my hair back, I’ll know you need a break or want me to pull off. If you pull me forward, then I’ll know you want me to go deeper and that you want more. Just don’t try to choke me, alright? Sound fair?”.

The instructions were straightforward and Sherlock nodded as he cleared his throat; John stroking him slowly all the while. “Yes… That’s a good idea,” he answered, allowing himself to smile back at the blonde. 

“Good,” John smirked. “Now, where were we?”

*********

Before Sherlock could even process the rhetorical question, John sank back down over his cock, taking him halfway before swirling his tongue around his length. His eyes fluttered closed and he gripped John’s fringe with a purpose as he tried to concentrate on the sensations that washed over him. John was positively brilliant with his mouth and Sherlock moaned when he pulled off just long enough to flick his tongue out over his slit as he had done before. His toes curled and flexed as he stretched his legs out to give John more room to work. With the extra space, the soldier engulfed his cock again and, this time, Sherlock tugged at his hair to hint to him that he could go deeper. 

John smirked around Sherlock’s cock and allowed him to pull his head down as he stroked over the taller man’s thighs to encourage him to lift his hips. Sherlock obliged, raising his hips up off the cushion to thrust ever so slowly into John’s mouth and, holy hell, if that didn’t feel good! 

The curly-haired genius let out a wail, thrusting into the heat of his soldier’s mouth, and felt the slide of John’s tongue over the underside of his cock as John’s nose brushed the dark curls at his groin. He felt his orgasm building quickly in his abdomen and he knew it wasn’t going to be long before he finally came. 

Tugging John’s hair a bit more frantically than he had meant to, Sherlock gasped as his balls drew up tight against his body. “John! Close… so close, please,” he panted, clamping his eyes shut tight and shaking his head. With an audible pop, John pulled off of his partner’s cock and wrapped a hand around him instead; pumping him in the same rhythm they had previously established.

“What do you want, Sherlock? You want to come all over me? Mark my chest, maybe? Make me yours?” the soldier crooned; his voice low and seductive. 

Sherlock bit down on his lip hard and nodded his head as he licked over his abused bottom lip. “Ungh! God, yes, please, John!” he cried out, digging his fingers into John’s scalp.

John moaned pleasurably through the pain of Sherlock pulling his hair and he lifted his free hand to stroke a sharp cheekbone. “Anything you want, love; anything. Just open your eyes for me. Want you to watch; want to watch you. God, want to see the look in yours eyes as you come undone for me,” he growled, licking his own lips as Sherlock opened his eyes to stare back at him in return. The emotion Sherlock saw there was raw and feral and pure. The soldier was eyeing him like a wild animal, ready to devour him at any moment. Those ocean blue eyes flashed with a cool fire that he had never seen before in another human being and he couldn’t help but think that John looked very much like a tiger who hadn’t eaten in weeks. 

Powerful shudders began in Sherlock’s thighs as he felt John’s strokes pick up their pace instantaneously. He felt his insides coil up tight like a large spring before his orgasm ripped through him in long drawn out spurts, pulsing out over John’s chest as the blonde flicked his thumb over the head of his cock. 

His orgasm subsided slowly, but the friction of John’s calloused thumb combined with the sticky slide of his release created a heightened sensation that he had never felt before. The spring in his abdomen drew tight once again and he couldn’t hold his eyes open any longer. He panted and moaned, gripping John’s hand when he slowed his movements in an effort to urge him to continue.

“Again…” he groaned, shaking his head as a tremor ran through his body. He could sense John’s hesitation as he quickened his strokes once again, careful not to voice his concern, but Sherlock couldn’t summon the brainpower to open his eyes. His entire body was overcome with the intense desire to come again.

John worked his thumb over his slit again and again on the upstroke as he had done before and, within minutes, the familiar sensation of the spring snapping sent a violent shudder down his spine as he arched his back; a second orgasm shattered his thoughts with a silent scream.

Darkness clouded in around his mind’s eye and Sherlock had no idea how long it took his brain to reboot. Minutes? Hours? He hadn’t the faintest; but, he could hear John muttering above him in hushed tones.

“Jesus, fuck! So beautiful, Sherlock... That’s it; come for me, love… come for me, again… Yes, just like that...”

When he finally found the strength to blink open his eyes, his soldier was staring at him in amazement; his own hand wrapped firmly around the very prominent erection, protruding through the towel clingling loosely to his waist, in an effort to still his own release. His eyes were blown wide with lust and he was biting his lip, dangerously on the verge of drawing blood. Sherlock let out a whimper at the sight and slipped from his place on the chair to join his partner where he knelt on the floor.

“H-have you ever done that before? You know, twice like that?” John asked, sounding both awestruck and slightly concerned, eyeing his partner curiously as Sherlock slid his hands up the soldier’s thighs. Sherlock shook his head - “No… no I haven’t…” - as he pressed John to lean back until his back came to rest against the edge of his perfectly made bed. Sherlock’s fingers worked the knot of the towel loose and leaned up over the blonde, pressing a grateful kiss to his chapped lips. 

*********

The kiss was sweet and needy all at the same time, sending a tingling sensation straight to John’s cock. Watching Sherlock come twice in a matter of minutes had nearly pushed him over the edge and his body was practically screaming at him for neglecting his own release. 

“Sherlock?” John prompted, as he felt the towel fall open at his waist. His knew his curious blue eyes had to be filled to the brim with questions and he sucked in a sharp breath when he felt Sherlock’s fingers wrap around his aching length. 

The other man simply smirked down at him as he pressed a kiss to the bridge of the soldier’s nose. He was up to something and John was sure he was going to be in for the ride of his life when Sherlock gave him an overly flirtatious wink. Another chaste kiss was pressed to the scar at his shoulder and Sherlock brushed his nose over the gnarled flesh, whispering against John’s skin as he kissed and licked his way up to the blonde’s ear.

“You were amazing, John… Absolutely fantastic…” 

A kiss to his ear lobe; a stroke of his cock. 

Sherlock’s tongue darted out to trace along the outer edge of his ear before he ducked his head down to kiss the tender spot just under John’s jaw, causing him to drop his head back against the edge of his mattress with a groan. Sherlock nipped at the sensitive skin of John’s neck as that sexy baritone washed over him; an intense wave of seduction.

“Permission to make you come, Captain?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoyed this update! A special thanks as usual to the wonderful CarmillaCarmine for proofreading this and making sure it isn’t a total disaster :D Kudos and comments are very much appreciated! More fun coming soon!! (In the next chapter, things are going to take an interesting turn and John’s going to feel a bit out of his depth, but I promise he won’t suffer long! ;) )


	4. Hurt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock returns the favor to his steady soldier, only to come to the conclusion that John needs so much more than he ever anticipated. His life as a soldier had been riddled with grief as well as triumph and Sherlock begins to understand that, sometimes, the physical scars we carry are nothing compared to the ones we hide in our hearts. As the two men find themselves growing closer together, an unexpected incident may just tear them apart before they can even truly begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO, this is one serious mess of a chapter, but I blame John! *rolls eyes* I love him to pieces, but sometimes, he goes awol on me and hijacks my stories and I just have to figure it out from there. I shared a picture in a facebook group that said "I don't 'write' my characters. I sit back and watch them do stupid shit and then write the incident report"... This explains my relationship with my John so very well lol So, with that being said, there are some minor flashbacks in this chapter that refer to John's army days and we see a bit of the aftermath that has been wreaking havoc on John's poor mental state. <3 Some sad bits in this one and there is a bit of a cliffhanger, but I promise the sadness won't last for long! John is just being silly ;)
> 
> A special thanks and shout out to my wonderful test subject CarmillaCarmine :) She's the best friend I could ask for and I am thankful for all her input when she reads this disaster!

The look of ecstasy and longing in John Watson’s half-lidded eyes had been enough to give Sherlock all the confidence he needed to explore as much of the soldier’s body as possible. He had never once gotten another person off before, but, having had his own needs met, he could devote the entirety of his thoughts to pleasing his partner. Having John’s hands and mouth all over his body had been completely mind blowing; better than any high Sherlock had ever experienced. Of course, he would never admit his troubled past to his partner - it had been years ago, after all, but it was easy to compare the two stimulants. Yes, Sherlock might have been a Virgin, but he knew that being romantically involved with John Watson was going to be the end of him and dammit if he didn’t want it any other way. He was working purely on instinct, now, listening to the subtle cues of John’s body; his elevated heart rate hammering in his veins, dilated pupils that drowned out the ocean blue of his eyes in a sea of black, the sharp hiss of each steadying breath the man beneath him attempted to take. Although Sherlock lacked the actual physical experience, he was certain he would be able to deduce exactly what John liked and how he liked it done. If he was going to impress the soldier and keep him interested, he was going to have to step up his game. 

With this in mind, he lapped his tongue teasingly over John’s ear before making a hasty retreat to the underside of his jaw where he kissed and bit the deliciously delicate skin. The response this action earned him was phenomenal and Sherlock couldn’t wait to see what other wonderful sounds he could pull out of his partner.  

“Permission to make you come, Captain?” he purred, all too aware of the effects that his voice had on John as he dropped into its lower register. He could feel the other man’s entire body shudder beneath him, begging to be stroked and petted. 

“Oh, fucking Hell…” the soldier panted. He shook his head slightly, bringing his forehead to rest against the side of Sherlock’s curly head. The blond pressed feather-light kisses into the unruly curls as he brought his calloused fingers up to stroke over Sherlock’s ear.  

The contact was distracting, at first, but it wasn’t enough to sway the taller man away from his ultimate goal. He gave John’s cock a firm stroke. “I believe I asked you a question, Captain. Is it not common courtesy to provide a relative and adequate response in exchange?” Sherlock asked, drawing back just enough that John could take in his faux-curiosity. 

The soldier’s eyes blazed with a heat that was quickly becoming one of Sherlock’s favourite features that the man possessed. That familiar predatory growl bubbled up again as John’s tongue slipped out into the space between them seeking out Sherlock’s soft lips. He pulled a disgruntled face when the action was met with the sound of Sherlock’s deep chuckle instead of needy  

‘I want you’ kisses.  

But, Sherlock only smirked back at him as John bumped his nose against his cheekbone. “God, love, of course. As a matter of fact, if you don’t make me come bloody soon, I swear I’ll lose my damn mind,” the blond groaned. John seemed to be fighting the urge to thrust up into Sherlock’s loose fist just as his long fingers gave John’s throbbing erection a few languid strokes.  

He knew he was teasing John, but he couldn’t help himself. The soldier’s head fell back against the edge of the mattress once again and Sherlock smiled to himself. The little moans and grunts coming from the other man were positively mesmerizing. Nothing else could compare to the way those sounds made him feel. Sherlock was stroking John Watson’s cock, making him writhe with pleasure, and it was the most fascinating thing in the world. The soldier’s body pitched forward when Sherlock’s thumb flicked over the head of his cock experimentally, spreading his thick precome over the skin, and he groaned loudly, sliding his arms around Sherlock’s back. He pulled him in for a searing kiss, parting Sherlock’s lips with his tongue and claiming him completely. 

“Do that again, love… Oh, yes do that again… Christ, you really do learn quickly, don’t you?” he praised between kisses.  

Of course, John would have realised that Sherlock had never been with anyone else before. Somehow, though, the idea of John knowing wasn’t as embarrassing as he thought it would be. The soldier seemed impressed with his efforts and was extremely encouraging, offering up praises every chance he got; being sure to call Sherlock gorgeous and beautiful. It was more than he could have ever hoped for in a first time partner at his age. The curly haired genius kissed back intently and allowed his mind to get to work on deducing exactly what John liked most during sex. He thumbed the head of John’s cock again - just as John had done to him - and made a mental note when the blond keened beneath him. He had been watching and cataloguing John Watson for months - constructing entire rooms in his mind palace for all things John. Yet, somehow this was entirely different. John Watson on a sexual scale was much easier to dissect, much more open with his wants and desires. He was an open book that Sherlock could read with just the smallest change in his grip or change of pace. For instance, as he tightened his grip ever so subtly and let his other hand drift down to stroke John’s sac, the shudder that worked its way through the other man’s body was just brilliant. He gave the soldier’s balls an experimental tug and earned himself another desperate moan.  

You see, Sherlock deduced that John Watson on the receiving end of sexual gratification was much different from the John Watson that had teased every last drop of ejaculate from Sherlock’s own body. This John wasn’t as commanding or dominating. No, this John was vocal and needy and made Sherlock feel like the most incredible being on earth. It was much easier to deduce the things that John liked because basic human logic dictated that he would have tried out many of his own favourite techniques on Sherlock and it didn’t take long for his suspicions to be confirmed. However, there was still something lingering just below the surface. Something he knew was there, but just couldn’t quite put his finger on; much like a hidden splinter festering beneath the skin, waiting to be found and extracted.  

As Sherlock’s hand stroked over John’s cock at a quickening pace, he trailed kisses down his partner’s stubbled jaw; licking down his neck as he trailed his fingernails experimentally over the soldier’s broad chest. The toned muscles flinched beneath his touch as his fingernails scraped over the toned skin and Sherlock smiled at the groan that rumbled up from John’s core.  

“Really, Captain?” Sherlock mused, his eyebrows shifting upwards in surprise. Before his partner could answer, he dug his nails in a bit deeper to scratch down the other man’s chest once more, eyes widening at the angry red marks he left behind. John arched his back in response and let out a deep moan as his eyes fluttered. 

Watching John respond in such a positive way to the roughness of his teasing, Sherlock found himself growing ever so curious to see what other ways he could bring his soldier pleasure. As Sherlock’s fingers drifted up to roll one of John’s nipples between his thumb and forefinger, the soldier gasped and his entire upper body spasmed once again. “Ah, fuck!” John growled, clenching his teeth as a sheen of sweat broke out across his forehead.” 

Sherlock couldn’t help himself. He wasn’t surprised that John responded to certain touches more so than he did others, but he was most definitely intrigued by the fact that John seemed to like being manhandled. He stroked the soldier’s cock in a steady rhythm, flicking his thumb over the head, all while continuing to pinch and scratch at his nipples and chest with his freehand. John’s breathing was coming in sharp groans and gasps as he writhed beneath Sherlock and he felt the blond's hands stroking up and down along his spine. Something about the way John was coming undone beneath him gave Sherlock yet another brilliant idea. 

The brunette smirked to himself as he placed a quick kiss to the edge of John’s jaw before kissing his way down his soldier’s chest. Quickening the pace of the hand still stroking John, Sherlock tongued over one of his partner’s nipples, catching the sensitive nub between his teeth with a sharp nip. As John’s subconscious spouted off another curse, Sherlock mouthed a silent ‘oh’, as yet another of his deductions was confirmed.  

“You like pain,” he stated, his voice calm and quiet. He licked and kissed over the swollen flesh before trailing his nails down John’s belly. He watched the lines in the other man’s forehead smooth and relax as he continued to analyse every single detail he could latch onto. “You don’t mind the soft caress of a lover, not in the least, but what you want most of all - what you  _ need _ \- is to hurt… you want someone to mark you, own you; you want someone who can write over the scars you carry. Not just the ones on your body, either; no, you mean even the ones that aren’t visible to the naked eye. The ones you keep buried deep inside; the ones that you think no one else can see…”.  

As the truths rolled off of his tongue with ease, Sherlock could feel every last one of John’s muscles tightening beneath him as he raked his nails over the abused flesh of the blond's chest, once more. He was sure he could feel tiny pinpricks of blood welling up in his wake as more curses and moans filtered out into the open air between them and John sucked in a shaky breath. 

“Fuck… I need… yes, I n-need… you… all of it… and you…  _ please _ ,” the soldier pleaded, digging his own nails into the small of Sherlock’s back and thrusting his hips up into the brunette’s grasp. His breathing was falling somewhere between desperate and erratic and Sherlock was fairly certain that it wouldn’t be long before John finally tipped over the edge. His previously confident demeanour had fallen away, laying bare all of his fears and insecurities. It was easy now to deduce the exact nature of the nightmares that plagued him during the lonely nights and Sherlock was also fairly confident that, along with the many lives the army doctor had no doubt saved, he was also strongly haunted by the memories of the lives he had mercilessly ended. John Watson missed the war, yes, that much was true. He missed the order and the discipline as well as the feeling of living with a purpose. What he did not miss, however, was the unfortunate price that he and many others just like himself had been forced to pay with their morality. John’s hands had been covered in blood many times throughout his years of service and Sherlock wondered just how much of that blood had been spilled by the man’s own hands. 

Feeling a pang if sympathy for his soldier, Sherlock bent his head to kiss John’s jaw. His partner was practically quivering by now and his breathing was sharp and shallow. John Watson was most definitely everything Sherlock had imagined and so much more. He was a fighter and a lover; he was a saint and a sinner. He was equal parts whole and broken. He had healed and been healed, yet he had also shouldered his courage and taken up arms to follow his enemies straight into hell and he had come out on the other side. Now, he needed shelter. He needed someone to lean on; someone whose demons could play well with his own…  

In that moment, Sherlock felt John’s cock twitch in his grip as he stroked once, twice, before a heavy warmth coated his hand as the soldier cried out. The sound that John made was one of relief, pleasure, and agony all rolled into one and it made Sherlock’s heart wrench in his chest - an unusual feeling he’d never experienced before. As he watched his soldier’s face, he could see years’ worth of physical and emotional pain twisting his features, stripping him of the mask he’d always worn. The deep creases in John’s forehead and the strangled cry that tore from his throat sent Sherlock’s mind into a whirlwind of deductions: dust-filled lungs gasping, struggling to call for help as sturdy hands worked diligently to help a fallen brother; the sharp searing pain of a bullet ripping through muscles, bones, and tendons; the metallic taste of blood on his tongue as it’s scent contaminated the air; a hazy, swirling vision of a heavy rifle being held in shaking hands as its first casualty was claimed; the rush of adrenaline that came with the excitement of a job well done, only to be replaced by an agonizing guilt over taking a life that, as a doctor, he had sworn an oath to protect… 

Sherlock felt a sudden sickness swirling deep in his gut as the cruel discoveries washed over him, but he did his best to swallow it down. He had no idea how John would react once he came back to himself and the thought of John realising all of the private information he had just unearthed made his stomach sink like a lead weight. Should he excuse himself to give John a moment of privacy? Maybe he should just gather his things and clear out all together… Yes, he should leave before he could embarrass John any more than he already had. They’d been meant to have a good time, yet, Sherlock hadn’t been able to keep his stupid thoughts to himself. He always had to be  _ clever _ , didn’t he? Well, the only thing being clever had ever gotten him, aside from assisting with local police work, that is, was a broken nose, years of self-hatred, and a lifetime of solitude. 

John’s breathing began to even out beneath him, but the soldier’s eyes were still closed. The taller man untangled himself from his partner and set about righting his pants and trousers. He glanced around for his shirt, but, just as he caught sight of it, calloused fingers closed lightly around his wrist. Every muscle in Sherlock’s body tightened instinctively, freezing him in place. 

“Don’t….”  

The word was nothing more than a whisper as John cleared his throat behind him. Though Sherlock couldn’t see him, he could tell the man was trembling slightly, no matter how hard he might be trying to hide it. He closed his eyes and memorised the feel of John’s fingertips ghosting over his pulse and made every effort to commit each callous to memory.  

When he didn’t answer, John spoke again. His voice was more controlled this time, although it was still very quiet.  

“Stay… Sherlock, please stay…”  

Something in the way John spoke sent an uneasy tremor down Sherlock’s spine. There was a desperate pleading in the words that pushed Sherlock to turn and face him. John wasn’t looking at him; his stormy blue eyes were fixed on a loose thread in the edge of the towel that now lay over his lap. He picked at the thread as he chewed the corner of his lip, seemingly focusing all his thoughts on keeping his emotions under control.  

Sherlock studied his face for a moment before letting himself resume his place in front of the soldier. He wasn’t sure exactly what John was thinking, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had made a very big mistake. He hadn’t meant to deduce those things about John… It just sort of happened. Either way, he owed John an apology and knew that he would have to make his exit soon if what was left of his dignity was going to remain in tact. 

“John, I… please forgive me… I promise you that I did not mean to intrude upon your privacy. I have never been able to control my deductions once they’ve begun… Most of the time, it’s like pulling a loose thread on a jumper. If you pick at it long enough, you’ll unravel it and won’t be able to stop it from falling apart and I never meant to do that to you. So, believe me when I say that I understand if you wish to forego anymore of our-“ 

“Sherlock…..”  

John’s voice broke through Sherlock’s ramblings like a hammer to glass, shattering his thoughts. The soldier was looking at him now, a look of concern and confusion pooling in his eyes. Sherlock could tell he was exhausted and the tension in his left shoulder was enough to convey his physical discomfort.  

“Sherlock, you didn’t do anything wrong… it’s me. It’s always been me. Ever since I came back from that miserable wasteland and found myself alone with my thoughts and my blood-stained clothes still stuffed in my bag, I’ve never been able to forget…” John sighed and took a deep breath. He bit down on his bottom lip, licking over the reddened skin before he continued. 

“If I’m honest with myself, I don’t want to forget. I don’t deserve to forget… I’m sure you deduced it already, but I was more than just an army doctor. I fought in combat, as well… I saved lives, yea, but I also took them and none of them were mine to take. I could remove myself when doing field surgery, you know? I could detach my emotions from my job while I worked. But, it’s hard to do that when you… when you’re in combat. It’s hard to forget the faces of the men you’ve put out. It is for me, anyway. The men we were fighting hadn’t done anything to me or my family; they were following orders just like I was. I look back on those days and I can’t get it out of my head… I’ve killed people, Sherlock. I was shot and nearly died, myself. Yet, here I am, still alive and I can’t help but wonder why I survived and the other men didn’t… and now, to top it all off, I am officially the worst first date you could ever experience… I’m really sorry… I’ve made a right mess of everything,”. 

With a heavy sigh, John hung his head and let his hand scrub over the nape of his neck. Sherlock felt an ache in his chest at the sight of such a strong and resilient man allowing himself to be seen for the psychological disaster he was. Nothing Sherlock could do felt like enough; although he knew he should comfort John, he wasn’t sure how. He supposed any form of fairly intimate contact might be adequate, but he settled on placing his hand over the back of John’s where it rested on the floor between them.  

As he let his thumb trail over the backs of the soldier’s knuckles, Sherlock eyed him carefully. John met his gaze, at first, then dropped his attention to their hands. He turned his hand over beneath Sherlock’s and a shudder ran through the shorter man as Sherlock traced over the lines in his palm. The soldier flexed his hand and Sherlock moved to lace their fingers together. 

Sherlock closed his hand in John’s, letting his long fingers slot between John’s shorter ones. The sensation was a simple, yet powerful one and he felt a wave of gratitude wash over himself. John wasn’t put off by his deductions; he was put out with himself for allowing his weaknesses to show and if that didn’t make him the most endearing creature on the planet, then what did?  

“You survived because you still have purpose,” Sherlock stated, answering the soldier’s rhetorical question and causing John’s head to snap up in surprise. As his lips parted to speak, Sherlock shook his head to quiet him. “Your life still has meaning and you still have worth. Logic typically dictates that all things have a purpose and once their purpose has been fulfilled, the universe finds a way to dispose of it. You still have things to do and people who need you, John. That’s why you’re still here,”. 

********** 

_ You still have worth... _

The words washed over John in a wave of reassurance he hadn’t been aware that he’d even needed until now. How was it that someone so incredibly brilliant and unique thought that  _ he  _ had value and purpose? After everything that he had done in his lifetime, John knew he was least deserving of something so remarkable as the admiration of Sherlock Holmes. In all honesty, it was a bold thing to assume, but, with the way Sherlock was looking at him now, it was the only conclusion he could come to. The brunette seemed to see straight through every one of John’s defences and yet he was looking at him as if he were something special; something miraculous.  

There was nothing special about being John Watson. Sure, there might have been at one point, but that had been a very long time ago. Back when John had been captain of his school’s rugby team; back when his shaggy blond hair, crooked smile, and deep blue eyes had made every girl in his class weak in the knees; back when he had been the centre of attention, the life of every party he ever attended. It had been a long time since he had been  _ that  _ John Watson. Most of the time, it truly hadn’t bothered him. Until now, that is. He’d done his best over the years to bury his insecurities; keep his dignity in check. As he’d always said, the physical scars he carried didn’t bother him in the slightest, but the emotional damage… That was another story altogether, but something about Sherlock broke through the walls he’d built up around his darkest secrets. The memories he had kept hidden behind the mask of confidence and charm that he wore had flooded through him under Sherlock’s penetrating gaze; breaking him down, showing his deepest desires. Desires that John had not let himself explore for fear of unearthing an insatiable hunger that he would never be able to satisfy. 

Realising he had been silent for far too long, John cleared his throat as he stared down at his hand where it lay enveloped in Sherlock’s. “Thank you…” he replied, not trusting his voice with anything more than a whisper. He’d already shown too much of himself for the evening; no need to put his partner through anymore than he already had. “I mean it. I never intended for that to come up, but… thank you for handling it the way that you did. I’ve never had that happen before and I don’t want you to think that I’m some sort of -” 

“John…” 

Sherlock’s voice was strong and solid as he spoke. His seafoam eyes were fixed on John’s face, seeking to calm him as he squeezed his hand around John’s in a comforting gesture.  

The soldier took a deep breath and met his partner’s gaze as he allowed himself to relax. “Sorry… I just know you’ve never been with anyone before and I’ve never indulged in that sort of thing before. I-I didn’t want you to think that that sort of thing was something I was going to expect you to take part in. I truly don’t expect you to go through with any of that sort of stuff,” John explained, turning his hand in Sherlock’s so that he could brush his thumb over the backs of the other man’s knuckles. He had to reassure him that this had been a one-off; that he would never in a million years expect Sherlock to try to satisfy him in that nature. Getting off together and pleasuring each other was one thing, but he didn’t want to scare Sherlock away with some long-hidden punishment kink that he hadn’t been aware that he’d even possessed before now.

Sherlock stared at him for a moment; his eyes narrowing as he studied John’s face. Before John could worry too much about what the mad genius was thinking, Sherlock spoke. 

“What if…” Sherlock began, seeming to search for the right words. “What if I want to…?” he asked, his voice impossibly deeper than it had been moments before. He glanced up at John as he dipped his head; a faint blush rising in his cheeks.  

John felt his own eyes widen in disbelief as he let the weight of what Sherlock was proposing settle over him.  _ Was he really saying he wanted to…? _ The soldier shook his head to clear his thoughts and licked over his bottom lip. 

“You… want to…” John repeated, letting his mind process the the situation. He swallowed hard and nodded his head in understanding as he took a deep breath in through his nose. “Right. Okay. Well, that definitely gives us something to talk about, yea?” 

Brushing his hand over the nape of his neck again, John smiled nervously as Sherlock nodded back at him. He was suddenly very aware of the mess that had dried across his chest and could feel his discomfort mounting. He knew Sherlock had to be feeling it too as he glanced down at the other man’s messy hand.  

“Why don’t you get cleaned up and then I’ll sort myself out when you’re finished, hm?” he suggested, gesturing in the direction of the bathroom with a nod of his head. John felt the familiarity of his usual self creeping back into his body and he flashed a quick wink at Sherlock, reveling in the reappearance of the other man’s shyness as his blush spread across his chest. John smirked before leaning forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of his partner’s lips and stood to help Sherlock up.  

As Sherlock’s gaze slid down his body, John suddenly remembered just how very naked he was and raised his eyebrows at the appraisal. “You really like the view, don’t you?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows and growling deep in his throat as he reached out to grip Sherlock around the waist. He pulled the taller man flush against him as he brushed their noses together.  

Sherlock let out a slight gasp, but smiled at the contact once the initial surprise dissipated. His brilliant blue eyes closed as he sighed contentedly, “Of course. What’s not to like?”.  

Feeling Sherlock smile against his skin, John let out a laugh at the cheeky response. He pulled back and kissed the brunette once more for good measure before turning him in the direction of the door. “Go on. Get yourself freshened up and I’ll order something for dinner. There’s an excellent Chinese just down the street; we can walk down and pick it up as soon as it’s ready,” he chuckled as Sherlock nodded once before heading for the bathroom. 

John huffed out a breath and scooped his towel up off of the floor, balling it up to toss it into the dirty clothes hamper as he crossed the room to his chest of drawers. He pulled on a clean pair of pants and khaki trousers before tugging a polo shirt over his head, pausing to at least attempt to flatten his hair in the mirror before giving up completely. He grabbed a pair of socks from the top drawer and leaned against the dresser to steady himself as he slipped them on. As he made his way back to the bed to retrieve his shoes, he couldn’t help but smile to himself at the way the evening had unfolded. He had been certain he had made an absolute mess of things, but Sherlock had managed to surprise him once again.  

John dropped to his knees beside the bed and ran his hand under the edge in search of his nicer trainers as he felt something cool and solid beneath his fingertips. He curled his fingers around the object and pulled Sherlock’s cell phone out from under his bed. It must have fallen out of his trouser pocket when he’d joined John in the floor. Smiling at the memory, he turned the device over in his hand and shrugged as he dropped it onto the mattress for Sherlock to find once he returned to the bedroom.  

Just as the soldier ducked his head down to resume the search for his shoes, the phone buzzed with a text alert, catching John’s attention. He stayed frozen for a moment, torn between his curiosity and his respect for Sherlock’s privacy. He couldn’t help but wonder who in their right mind could possibly be messaging his famously anti-social colleague. However, John supposed he must have family that he kept in touch with, so perhaps it was something important. Deep down, he knew he shouldn’t even be contemplating the thoughts that were running through his mind; but, as the text alert sounded again, he found himself raising up to check the text notification on the glowing screen.  

**_Hey, you… ;) We’re still on for tomorrow night, right? I’ve made dinner reservations, so I’ll pick you up at your place around 6. Looking forward to getting you alone and I can’t tell you how excited I am to finally be doing this… See you then!   - Trey S._ **

He blinked once, then twice… then blinked again. As he reread the words on the screen, he could feel something churning deep in the pit of his stomach. A heavy weight settled in his chest and he could feel his heart struggling not to crack under the pressure of it all. Surely, there was a simple explanation behind the text. Perhaps it had been sent to the wrong number? John couldn’t think of anything else it could be. Sherlock didn’t associate with anyone outside of work. Hell, he didn’t even associate with anyone  _ at _ work, so surely it must be a mistake.  

Except… that wasn’t exactly true, was it? John’s thoughts swirled with the memory of the other man Sherlock had been talking with that very afternoon. They had been deep in conversation and the mystery man had been laying it on pretty thick in an attempt to catch Sherlock’s attention.  _ Had he succeeded? Would Sherlock really accept the advances of another man after everything that had been building between the two of them?  _ The man was rather good looking, what with his perfect, dark hair and muscular build. Not to mention he was evenly matched with Sherlock when it came to height… 

As he mulled the situation over, a heavy lump formed in the back of John’s throat. He wrapped his fingers tight around the phone and sniffed, chewing his bottom lip to keep his emotions from spilling over. If Sherlock truly was weighing his options, who was John to interfere? The two had never discussed seeing one another exclusively. John had only asked to take Sherlock to dinner; he hadn’t exactly done much to stake his claim on his colleague. Yes, they had been fooling around just now, but he knew from experience that that wasn’t exactly grounds for a serious relationship. As hard as it was, he couldn’t deny the evidence in front of him and, besides, who would really want a broken army captain with a shattered mental state when they could have someone whole, and perfect, and fit? With the promise of something so much more reliable, why would someone as remarkable as Sherlock Holmes ever want John Watson…? 


End file.
